


I Want It All

by subtlegods



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlegods/pseuds/subtlegods
Summary: BREAKING NEWS:SHARPAY EVANS, 23, FOUND DEAD IN HER APARTMENT.The pop star was found strangled to death in her apartment, at around 8:03 PM on June 25, moments after neighbors heard suspicious movement coming from her unit. At the moment, an autopsy is being done and investigations are being carried out, but the death has been ruled as a murder. Suspicions as to whom the murderer might be arise, as Sharpay Evans is said to have a cult of followers who attract multiple enemies.





	1. LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a murder mystery story based on High School Musical 3's _I Want It All_ number. Details and relationships are canon divergent, meaning the history in the HSM trilogy are not applicable for this story. The roles of the characters in this fanfic follow their roles in _I Want It All_ in HSM 3.
> 
> If you read this, thank you! It means a lot to me that you would take the time of day to read something I wrote! Don't forget to tell me what you think, what I can improve, and what you liked about the chapters to come!

The camera lights flashed before Ryan Evans, but he did not want them to this time. On any other day, he would’ve smiled brighter than all the lights combined. He was a _wonder_ , of course --- from his perfect strands of hair, down to every inch of his soles. Smiling was second nature; to smile _for cameras_ was _first_ . After all, he’d learned how to perfect the smile of an award-winning actor, to tilt his head at just the right angle with every photograph, to connect with an audience greater than the one he could see with his eyes. He was a goddamned _great_ actor, too. He could smile right now if he wanted to.

But his eyes were sullen things: deep and dark and angry. His usual upbeat demeanor was replaced by a certain kind of sadness. His smile, shrouded by the dark cloud that hung over his head. For once in his entire life, Ryan did not want the cameras to flash at his direction.

How could they not, though?  
Sharpay Evans had _died_ , --- no, had been _murdered_ \--- and Ryan Evans was to say a few words about it.

 _Let me grieve_ , he wanted to say. _Let me grieve my sister’s death in peace. Please._ But to beg would be out of character; and, for as much as they claimed to, the media never wanted to hear the truth. They wanted to gather around celebrities for the latest stories, to pick up bits and pieces of lies they could pass off as the truth. It didn’t matter that Ryan wanted to grieve; he knew this. They wanted a statement, so he was giving them one.

Even in the wake of her death, Sharpay always outshone Ryan. What a pity.

If Ryan were braver, he would mention this. Somehow. An out of place joke wouldn’t be too bad; he was, after all, grieving.

Instead, he sunk into himself and looked back at the pairs of eyes and ears all waiting for him. For something. For _anything_. They blinked when he did. Breathed when he breathed. Stayed silent. And, perhaps, it was such silence that made the loneliness all the more evident. These people, all with baited breath, hanging on a moment for a simple word, would all leave when this was done. Wasn’t that lonely? Wasn’t it sad?

In one quick moment, Ryan broke eye contact with the dozens of cameras pointed at him. His gaze met the ground, but hollow were they nonetheless. “She doesn’t deserve this,” he said, finally. An agreeable murmur came from the crowd. “We _will_ find justice. I will search for it and turn the world upside down if I have to.”

*

“Ryan, are you with me?” Detective Chad Danforth said with furrowed eyebrows. His voice, a quiet thing, almost as though he were afraid to startle Ryan out of his daze. He, after all, had seen grief one too many times before. It took the forms of so many monsters; the look in Ryan’s eyes were nothing new. But, for as much as Chad wanted to sympathize, he had a job to do. If he took home every murder case, every homicide, every kidnapping, then he’d never get some sleep. He simply had to do what he had to do. “Tell me again, from the start. When was the last time you’d spoken to your sister?”

The question would do the trick for a moment, as Ryan met the detective’s gaze. He opened his mouth to say something --- _anything_ \---, but in place of what should have been words were sobs. Unruly. Disrupted. Loud, and clear, and hurting. When he spoke, his words were muffled. There were only four, but they were enough. “I--- can’t do _this_ ,” Ryan said.

“You have to,” replied Detective Danforth. “It’ll help us find your sister. It’s been a week, and we’ve got no leads, no nothing. Whatever you say could possibly help us crack this case open. _Please_.”

Ryan Evans was many things --- both good and bad. He was a lover moreso than he was a fighter; a coward more often than he was brave. Even now, though, he knew the importance of speaking up.

And so, when he finally opened his mouth, a multitude came out. Stories both related and not related to the case at hand. Answers to questions that Chad did and did not ask. Clues and details that helped build a case. But, amongst all these, a single name stood out: _Troy Bolton_.

“She went out on a date with him, once,” Ryan began. This was all too familiar: a story of forbidden and unrequited love, ending sour for a woman. “I know the guy from our meet and greets, as we do love to interact with our fans. He had always been persistent in asking Sharpay out, and he was cute, so I guess she gave it a chance.” The story, while seemingly innocent, was told with such a solemn tone. “But it didn’t end well, and Sharpay mentioned him coming over even when she hadn’t invited him, at unexpected hours of the night.”

By the end of the afternoon, Detective Danforth had enough details about _Troy Bolton_ to list him as a suspect. He and Ryan parted ways on a friendly note.

But, just as he was clicking the lock on his door before heading to bed, a text message arrived.

 **INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS** **  
** Don’t try to look for me. You don’t know what I can do to you.


	2. HOLLOW THREATS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Don’t try to look for me._
> 
> Chad Danforth would dismiss these words as hollow threats. The words were as empty as lifeless vessels hoping for something to crawl into, hoping to call something a home or a body. He knew better than to believe any hearsay, any unproven text messages, any unrelated note. But, nonetheless, he did do what he could. He attempted to trace the unknown number. He attempted to identify the location of the anonymous sender. 
> 
> _You don’t know what I can do to you._
> 
> *
> 
> “Something strange is happening,” Troy began, unsure of his words and the reality of them. “I think I’m in danger.” He would blink twice with these words, almost as if he were shocked he were saying them. Almost as if he didn’t believe his own mouth. “Something really strange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know your thoughts! If you have any input on how to make this story better, let me know! If you have any general comments or suggestions, let me know! Tell me what you like and what you don't like! It'll help keep me inspired and writing!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope you like it!

_ Don’t try to look for me. _

Chad Danforth would dismiss these words as hollow threats. The words were as empty as lifeless vessels hoping for something to crawl into, hoping to call something a home or a body. He knew better than to believe any hearsay, any unproven text messages, any unrelated note. But, nonetheless, he did do what he could. He attempted to trace the unknown number. He attempted to identify the location of the anonymous sender. 

_ You don’t know what I can do to you _ .

_ Fear _ hadn’t been something he wasn’t used to; threats were a part of the job and the life he had chosen. If Chad Danforth allowed himself to be swayed by every seemingly scary message, he would’ve broken down long ago. If Chad allowed himself to cave, he would have lost his mind. 

And so, hollow threats. He dismissed these words as hollow threats. It was a text message that could make sense, but didn’t. It could be related to anything, to anybody, to any current open case. Chad was often careless, often childish, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d learned enough not to carry the weight of the texts on his shoulders.

So, when the next one came, his immediate reaction was to delete the message.

**INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS  
** You will do as I say, or risk the consequences.

Chad Danforth was not a man so easily dumbfounded by eerie text messages.

*

It was cliche to think: the sadness hit him like a freight train. Such pain was quick, easy, obvious from a mile away. Such pain was easy to run away from, if one so chose to step aside when the train got close enough. Troy Bolton was a  _ train wreck _ as he hunched over the nighttime news: Sharpay’s death playing on every channel, every news station, every breaking story.

But the pain was not like that of a freight train. Perhaps, it was more a silent bullet.   
Troy never saw it coming, after all. 

But, there it was: the silent bullet of a killer. Sharpay’s death was the topic of every loud mouth on television. He couldn’t have stepped away from it if he tried. And how could he, if he hadn’t known it would come? How could he, if he hadn’t known things would end so soon?

If he’d known, he’d have done so much differently.

Would he have kissed her? Dare to do more than just hold her hand? Tell her good night on her front porch, ask for a second date in the hopes that he had a chance? Was that not desperation? Was that not risking everything on the line? And was that not brave, if brave was the only choice he had should he have known he would lose the love of his life so quickly?

Sharpay Evans was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.   
There was nothing he could’ve done to stop it.

The days would pass by him: a series of Chinese take outs, misplaced sheets, an unmade bed.

**INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS** **  
** Pity. Sharpay would hate to see you like this, wouldn’t she?   
Pick yourself up. You’re going to confess.

**TROY BOLTON to ANONYMOUS** **  
** Who are you?

*

How Troy Bolton found himself before Chad Danforth was a blur. He remembered bringing himself here, remembered agreeing to being questioned, remembered a buzz in his head that said he  _ should  _ be here. But, it felt almost like somebody else in his body. Like his body was not  _ his _ body. Like his mind had a mind of its own. Was that not what grief turned a person into? Did grief not turn a person into a stranger to himself?

Troy took a seat before Chad in the empty interrogation room, eyes empty and bleak, void. He felt himself  _ there _ , but didn’t feel at all present in the situation. He nodded when Chad cleared his throat.

“Something strange is happening,” Troy began, unsure of his words and the reality of them. “I think I’m in danger.” He would blink twice with these words, almost as if he were shocked he were saying them. Almost as if he didn’t believe his own mouth. “Something really strange.”

Chad remained steady. His face, a draw blank. “What makes you think so?”

“Just… Sharpay’s death. There might be something more to it.”

“Did you or did you not go out with Sharpay before she was murdered?”

“I did,” Troy replied, “We went out for dinner. We had some ice cream.”

The conversation would be informational, with Troy only telling the necessary details that Chad asked of him. The detective could see the grief-stricken look on the man’s face, understood that it was not one made up nor acted upon, but he also could not trust it. So many  _ evils _ had taken place in the guise of genuine faces. He could not fall trap into it.

But, when he asked Troy why he had been visiting Sharpay at ungodly hours of the night, the conversation would take a different turn.

Troy snapped out of whatever reverie he was in, even for just a moment, and met Chad’s gaze. “Sharpay and I were lovers,” he said without hesitation. Chad didn’t doubt him. “I came over because she asked me to, every night for at least a month. Even before we had gone out. I never would’ve hurt her!”

**INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS** **  
** Wrong move. Wrong choice of words.   
Don’t go against me again.

Troy would read the message hours later, after he’d been let out of the interrogation room.

**TROY BOLTON to ANONYMOUS** **  
** Who are you? What do you want?

**INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS  
** I want you to confess. Didn’t you kill Sharpay?   
Troy, don’t play dumb with me. You know you did it.  



End file.
